


Portfolio

by Teaandchips



Series: pretty baby [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Daddy Kink, F/M, Multi, Slight Ageplay, oh boy, slow burn sorta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaandchips/pseuds/Teaandchips
Summary: He wants her bent over his desk, his calloused hands running over her like corporeal sin.He wants to trace the stretch marks roving her delicate skin like stained glass, to run his teeth along them.To nibble his way to his salvation between her legs and worship fervently between the altar of her thighs.Mostly he just wants...





	Portfolio

_I need a secretary_ , the thought cycles in his head more than a few times throughout the past months. He sits now, the bridge of his nose pinched between his index and thumb; he ponders the repercussions of the rash thought that suddenly sprung forth from his hulk sized headache. His right hand leaves his face and flails halfheartedly for his phone, eyes remaining closed for the duration of the search. A single eye squints open long enough to make sure his tweet didn't make it seem like he was having a stroke before he pressed ' _tweet_ ' and flopped face first onto a desk more expensive than twenty-two students worth of college debt. 

He awoke the next day, in the same position, to the sound of the nail in the coffin as Pepper Potts walked into his office, pristine pumps blazing proverbial hell fire.

"How could you? I can't believe this!"

The billionaire jolted upright obnoxiously fast, bleary eyes blinking rapidly to clear his sleep muddled vision as the first thing to leave his lips is -  "I didn't sleep with anyone." Pepper does that telltale sign of his failure, a sharp breathy sigh through her nose. Before she digs her phone from her skirt pocket with a brief moment's fiddling and shows him his twitter profile. And the most recent tweet reads -

_Secretary needed for Avengers complex, please find us at 321 Sparrow Way, Upstate New York - must be good at organizing shit, thnx_

He swipes a rugged hand over his desk numb features, grumbling incoherently. 

"Not only did you tweet out the new complex address, but now you've got over twenty thousand applicants lined up at our doorstep." Her painted nails adjust her clipboard where it rests on her hip as she straightens her back, giving her next sentiment with relish. "And you are _personally_ interviewing each and every one."

He squints up at her surveying the crown of her head for horns that may have spontaneously grown within the last seven or so hours since he saw her last. His search turns up fruitless. "Pep, come on. I've been all over the damn world today-"

"Yesterday," she corrects primly.

"Yesterday, today, tomorrow, _whatever_. The point is - I'm very sorry and if you'll just excuse me I think I'll actually find my bed before dozing off." He tried, really he did, but Pepper is ten steps ahead and more.

"Fix your tie, Mr. Stark. The first applicant will be with you shortly." And then she's gone with a very final click of her heels.

\- He's in hell, he's pretty certain. At one point Cap and Frosty strolled by on their way to the training room and he turned to them desperately with pleading eyes to save him, Bucky (of course) delighted in the whole shit show while Steve at least had the decency to look contrite while he raise his hands in surrender. That was after the girl with the literal giant python around her neck and before the guy with the sword swallowing. There were at least a thousand times where he thought he may have to call an ambulance, and a dozen more where he would have to call the fire department. He didn't know what any of these things had to do with being a secretary and he really didn't _want_ to know either.

It's dark outside by the time he's finished with every last interview and he's long resumed his position of face down self reflection, Pepper makes a pleased sigh when she enters as though her idea of "teaching him a lesson" has worked. It has. She looks at her clipboards and hums softly to alert him of her presence if he hadn't already noticed.

"You just have one more applicant." she says this as she walks out to retrieve the possible sword-swallowing, snake-charming weirdo.

He's got his chin in his hand, eyes closed as the door opens on the last applicant. 

"May I come in?" The voice is soft, polite. Easy on the ears after over a hundred too many brash individuals, the shock of it opens his eyes. 

Of course, she's the last applicant, that's how these things always go. In front of him stands, easily the sweetest little thing he's ever laid eyes on. A tall brunette is peeking around the obnoxiously large oak door, he can just make out a portion of skirt from behind the wood. 

He straightens immediately, gesturing with one hand while adjusting his tie with the other. She smiles and enters, and he's stuck studying the length of her. Her slightly curling hair is pulled up in a ponytail, as though she started out trying to wear her hair down and became fed up partway through. Her eyes are the color of sunlit bourbon and her flushed cheeks are smattered in a constellation of freckles, including one little mole that seems divinely placed in ode to Marilyn Monroe. Her pale neck sloped down to a curvy frame, perfectly hourglass in it's dimensions. Wide hips led to thick thighs that slimmed down and ended with dainty feet. She was wearing a form fitting black tank top, with a rose patterned skirt that defined her waist while flaring out in a definitive fifties style. Her cardigan matched the color of the roses on her skirt which, he noticed, matched the color of the two toes peeping out of her high heels. 

He's been staring entirely too long.

He clears his throat before standing and offering her a hand, "Tony Stark."

"Of course!" It's said in such an innocent light that he smiles unbidden. "I'm Katie MacDonald, I'm one of many here for an interview." She shakes his hand with the one not currently supporting a hefty binder. 

"Please sit," he murmurs as he does himself. "So what makes you think you're qualified for the job?" He's looking at her with what must be complete awe at this point.

"Ah, right to the real stuff," she jests softly. A bright smile settles on her plush lips as she turns the binder around and plops it down in front of him. 

"This is my personal portfolio, it has everything from my past experience to what elementary school I went to." She's beaming as she flips it open, allowing him to take over. It's clear this was her pride and joy, it's pristine with page protectors on every scrap of paper in the damn thing. All divided by category and labeled as such, definitely qualifies as ' _good at organizing shit_.' 

"Jesus, kid. How much does this thing weigh?"

"Four and a half pounds," she answers without hesitation. She smiles proudly at him whilst a nervous hand tucks an errant whorl of hair behind her ear.

He allows a beat to pass as he flips through, studying a school report from her elementary school with what is obviously a chubbier, smaller version of the young woman in front of him. He moves on to her resume finding two jobs in her experience, one at Burger King and another at some hipster kid store in some mall. He arches a brow and from his peripheral he can see her twiddling her fingers anxiously. 

"It says here that you've only held two previous jobs, why is that?"

He glances her way to find her chewing at her bottom lip, as if by some magical chance she weren't a complete shoo in for the job. 

"Well, Mr. Stark, sir - I only graduated high school a month ago." It seems more of a confession than anything else, her fiddling has increased tenfold.

His brow furrows, "How old are you, kid?"

"I'm, uh, seventeen. Eighteen in July." 

His brow has suddenly become much too comfortable in his hairline. Jesus Christ, only seventeen and she's this composed and confident in her little collection of work. Well, before he began the topic of her age. She's also very... what's that word he's grasping for? His chocolate hues flicker to the silky expanse of thigh peeking from under her short skirt. She's very - _well developed_.

"Kid, you've got the job." He realizes after his words that he left her stewing in silence for quite a bit because she abruptly stops her fiddling.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I said, you got it, kid. Job's yours." He barely finishes his statement before she's jumping out of her seat.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Mr. Stark really, it means a lot." She's doing that smiling thing at him again, and he warms under the brightness of it. She's grabbing her binder off his desk and on her way out before he really can register that she's not smiling at him any longer and he's still frozen in place. 

He blinks and finds his focus drawn to where the edge of her skirt bounces against the backs of her thighs. 

"Oh, and kid?"

She whirls on her heel and turns to him, that bright smile still curling her plush lips. "Yes, sir?"

"You start at eight sharp tomorrow morning."


End file.
